


A General Lack of Fantasy

by kalelle



Category: Thor (2011)
Genre: Masturbation, Other, Solo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-23
Updated: 2011-08-23
Packaged: 2017-10-23 00:08:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalelle/pseuds/kalelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on an ask that Contriveroffraud[dot tumblr] got wherein a very invasive anon asked what kind of sex toy he preferred. The answer was “Vibrator” and thus, I present to you, a fic where Loki has his first experience with a vibrator.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A General Lack of Fantasy

Loki isn’t exactly sure what possessed him to do this. A mix of curiosity and desire, perhaps. He had been intrigued by the Midgardian pleasure shop, had meandered in looking for nothing in particular. The mortal was a kind young woman, tribal marks inked into her skin and metal studs in her ears and lips. He had expressed that he didn’t really know what he was looking for, just…something. And she did her part, coaxing out answers and preferences with gentle questions until finally, Loki left with a small, unmarked package in the crook of his elbow.

It doesn’t take much to turn trash into a credit card, and it takes even less to fool a very high quality hotel that you are wealthy, successful, not a God of Mischief, and you would very much like a nice room with a good view and not to be disturbed. With such a room to his name, Loki feels a bit more comfortable. He’s taken the small contraption out of it’s packaging, washed it with a small bubble of soap that the girl had given him. He removes his shoes and socks, his scarf, his jacket, reclines on the bed, his shoulders propped up by wonderfully plump and soft pillows, his lanky body displayed out before him, left leg stretched out, right foot planted slightly off centre, knee jutted high into the air.

He’s not fantasizing about anything in particular, just focusing on the moment with it’s sensations. He starts by bringing his hand up to his neck, lightly drawing his index and middle finger over his throat, ghostly touches, trailing up the right side, tailored nails catching lightly on sensitive skin. He turns his hand, uses the edge of his thumbnail to trace down his jawline, and then back up to the secret place behind his ear that loves to be kissed. And maybe when he does indulge fantasy, it’s like a breath in that lonely spot.

His hand drags a bit lower, and he curves his fingers to scratch lightly from his neck down to the undone top button of his silk shirt, and maybe his heart is beating a little faster now, but who can tell. He deftly undoes the next button, runs his fingers lightly over that exposed skin, hand slipping under the fabric to trace his collar bone. The next button goes, hand lowering and fingernails catch on the edge of a sensitive nipple and he draws in a deep breath. Further still his questing hand go, undoing button after button, slowly exposing pale skin like cream, fingertips fluttering like butterflies along it, touching but never settling. His left hand stays planted, palm down, on the sheet beside his hip.

It takes a bit of manoeuvring, but he frees himself from the shirt without too much trouble, his skin a bit cool, the room a bit warm. His left hand returns to it’s place for now, the right tracing swirls and patterns down, down, before lightly encountering the small trail of dark curls peeking out from his waistband. He scratches his thumb nail along the trail just below his belly button, up and down, up and down, before leaving it be, and his hand ventures to his pants. He curls his fingers again, scratching the growing bulge in his pants, and he lets out a sigh, a little uneven, a little wanting.

He doesn’t tease himself much with his pants, only so far his long arms can reach after all, and he’s committed to this comfortable sprawl. He undoes the button, the zipper, had anyone been watching they’d see how to make kicking off your own expensive pants and briefs look graceful. But no one is watching, and he isn’t doing this for anyone else. He takes a moment to spread both hands over the tops of his smooth thighs, rub down lightly, and scratch back up, and one hand dips to lightly catch on another one of those secret spots, scattered over his body like hidden treasure, that so demands touch. And maybe when he does indulge fantasy, it’s a thumb much larger than his lightly touching that spot.

His erection is full mast now, jutting up from it’s nest of curls, which he takes a moment to run his fingers through, raking up and down, but he’s resolutely ignoring his manhood now, setting the standard for the occasion, let’s see if he can keep it that way. He falters a half step, maybe most of a second, a little unsure. No time like the present, really, and the little device has been warming against his leg the whole time, so it’s not like he could forget it.

It’s small, given the selection at the shop, maybe the length of his hand, a smooth barrel the width of two large fingers, which suits him well enough. The end is tapered and curved lightly, like a bit of a scoop. The far end of it has a circular dial, and a cord attached to a hole grooved into it. It’s dark purple, with some kind of black glitter mixed in, a lovely colour not to be seen. He had preferred it over the green. The bag also contained several more small bubbles of liquid, lubricant, and he had chosen a clear, water based one. He takes a breath, now or never.

It’s not sticky, which is nice, and it takes a moment to coat the small contraption entirely, the liquid slipping about. He moves it down his body, dipping the curved end against his skin once or twice, smearing the lubricant, leaving traces before finally, down, past his cock demanding attention, down, down, to his neglected entrance, and it’s a strange angle, it’s not like he’s done this particular version of the activity before, and his hand slips slightly on the lube, but there’s a kind of thrill in the messy act of it, all this uncoordinated movement. Something low in his stomach clenches and he takes a breath before gently pressing the tip to his hole. Only the tip, the barest intrusion keeping him open, and he holds there for a few seconds, before withdrawing, his body pushing it out, and he holds it firm against himself a moment.

He pushes again, a bit further this time, his body taking the tapered end easy enough, but offering resistance, and he lets it slide out of him once more, adjusts his hand a bit, and that turns the dial, a bit soon, but he finds that he likes the gentle vibrating sensation anyway. It’s a curious device, and he presses it again, his body taking it easier with the vibration helping things along. And he finds a bit of the control he was exerting over himself, the gentle push, pull, is being gnawed at by that vibration. Curious, he adjusts his hands, pushes his hips up a bit, and all at once it’s shaking with a little more intensity, and he’s pushed past the tapered curve to the consistent bulk of the thing, sliding in with a bit of resistance from his otherwise unprepared body and the strange angle at which he finds his hand pressing it.

He presses it most of the way in once, then pulls out to the curved end, then pushes it back in, and it goes much smoother, despite his body clenching and grabbing on to it, even as it shakes. He pushes further and further until it’s almost at the dial, fingers clasped around the end, and he holds there, drops his head back, looking up but seeing nothing, feeling the sensation. The lubricant on his fingers, the curved tip so close to something hidden, his hole fluttering and clenching, trying to either hold on and pull further or push out, he isn’t sure. His curved erection weeping on itself at the sensation. His heart is beating faster, he’s panting and he hadn’t even realized. There is a slight sheen of sweat on his long body, and the room is still warm.

He grips the end again, and pulls, pulling out till the curved end again, twisting lightly so it drags against his inner wall, before pushing again, twisting a finger around the dial and it turns up, from a gentle buzz, to a more insistent shake, and it feels good. He’s almost surprised that it feels good, it feels like something that wants to come apart, and he’s keeping up with this. His control is slipping, he’d like to just plunge the thing into his own body over and over, turn it up to full, but he stays his course, pressing it in, and he’s missed the spot again, but that’s okay. No need to make this end sooner than it needs to. He whimpers low in his throat.

His wrist aches from where it is curved around himself, trying both to pleasure himself, but not touch his erection, which is a feat. So, vibration device still sheathed in him, he straightens out his legs,  _oh_ , but that’s a lovely pressure, rolls, and pulls his knees forward. This is not an unfamiliar position, body on the bed like a praying man, subjugated for his personal god of pleasure. He turns his face so he’s not pressed into the pillow, soft as it may be, his chest pressed to the warm comforter, backside raised to the empty room.

At this angle, it slides a little deeper on it’s own, and he reached back through his legs, much better angle, though his cock draws sloppy designs in pre-come on his forearm, that’s the only touch it will get for now, and his fingers wrap around the end of the device once more, twisting to turn it up, and it’s intense now, almost too intense, it makes him shake as he pulls it almost all the way out and pushes it back in, once, twice, three times. That must be the final setting, it’s so strong now, but the dial pushes further still.

He’s been quiet, because any other occasion like this demands silence, when there are rooms so close to his. But that is silly, he is alone, no one can hear him, so he lets out the low moan, likes the way it sounds. He eases the device out entirely, then pushes it back in swiftly, nearly singing out his pleasure, a freedom he could learn to enjoy. He pulls it out and pushes in, aware of his legs shaking, aware that even with simply the draw of the sensation and the coolness of his own wrist, he’s not far from the edge. He pulls it out to the curve, twists, pushes back and  _oh_ , there it is, the hidden spot, the spot that makes him tremble and pants, makes him moan high, and maybe if he does indulge in fantasy, it’s big hands on his slender hips.

Nestled in that place, he fingers the dial, and further it spins until it’s on full power, shaking and buzzing, and his thighs are shaking, can barely keep him up, and it’s too much, too intense, and he needs it, he pushes his face into the pillow and groans into it, bringing both hands to the bedspread to clutch at it, hips thrusting forward against nothing of their own accord, entrance clenching around the intrusion, and he rocks forward once more and he comes with a loud keen, even muffled by the pillow, spilling himself over the expensive comforter, body shaking so hard it’s wont to come apart, and he’s riding the waves of his orgasm pushed forward by the vibration, until finally he pitches his body to the side, avoiding the mess, and has to ease the little device out of him because it’s too much, too much.

His breath comes in harsh pants, he’s still trembling, he’s consciously curled around the evidence, and his body feels bit strange, a bit strung out. It’s not uncomfortable, but it’s something, strange, foreign. His heart is steadying, his body coming down. And make if Loki does indulge in fantasy, he’s not lying here alone. 


End file.
